


One More Lie

by Enjolannister



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Enjolras has a breakdown basically, Lovesick Grantaire, M/M, Mentions of Death, Mostly it's just exr, and yeah, with background amis and mentions of most of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 10:23:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enjolannister/pseuds/Enjolannister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night before the barricade, Enjolras retreats into the Corinthe and Grantaire follows him</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Lie

_Drink with me_

_To days gone by_

_Can it be_

_You fear to die?_

_Will the world remember you when you fall?_

_Can it be your death means nothing at all?_

_Is your life_

_Just one more lie?_

It was a serene melody the students were used to singing whenever they drank together. Usually Joly and Grantaire would lead it. On this barricade, at night, the only difference was Gavroche joining in with the singing.

Grantaire finished his part of the song, overthinking it. Is your life just one more lie? Yes, Grantaire answered himself. We’re all lies, why else are we here? He knows why everyone’s here: revolution. He also knows why he happens to be here: Enjolras.

Enjolras dismissed himself to the café after the attack and after they took care of Eponine’s body. Suddenly the image of a bloody barricade, amplified in size by the bodies of those that once held it, flashed in his head, in that millisecond when the image flashed in his head he searched for his saviour in the red coat, he found him. The sight made Grantaire drown whatever was left of the wine bottle in his hand in one gulp. He also dismissed himself to the café.

He went to the basement in search of more alcohol; it was starting to get to his head. The image of a dead Enjolras still stuck there. The image won’t go. As much as Grantaire tried, he began to shiver, out of worry, fear, sorrow. He found a few more bottles and sat down, his back against the wall in the barely-lit basement and opened another bottle, drinking as quickly as he could. It’ll clear the image from my head, he thought, and prayed alcohol wouldn’t fail him this time, not when he needed it to work.

He was down to the third out of the five bottles he found when Courfeyrac ran down the basement, the sound of his rapid footsteps on the stairs made Grantaire’s head throb in pain.

“Grantaire?” He called.

“You’re supposed to be on watch duty Courfeyrac.” Grantaire snapped at him.

“It’s Combeferre’s shift now.” Courfeyrac sat beside him. Grantaire took another swig from his bottle.

“Grantaire, you’re drinking an awful lot.” Courfeyrac observed, a hint of concern in his voice.

“I always drink an awful lot.”

“No but this time it’s more than your usual intake of alcohol. What’s wrong?”

“Are you seriously asking me what’s wrong?” Grantaire said, his voice dripping with drowsiness and sarcasm.

“Well, besides tomorrow. You’re not one to fear death, you’d embrace it. There’s something else.” If Grantaire knew anything, Courfeyrac was very trustworthy, why not tell him? It’s not like Courfeyrac can do anything now since they’re all going to their graves tomorrow. Grantaire smiled, then started laughing. He stopped laughing after a while, Courfeyrac just watched him, completely confused.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Grantaire said, drowning the last word inside the bottle as he drank again. Courfeyrac shrugged. Grantaire smiled and leaned over towards Courfeyrac, his face approached his ear, and Grantaire whispered, “Enjolras.”

Courfeyrac looked at him for a minute, then snatched one of the last remaining bottles and drank with him.

“Well?” Grantaire asked after a few minutes of silent drinking.

“I’m really sorry Grantaire, how long have you been…” Courfeyrac didn’t know how to finish his sentence so he stopped, making lots of hand movements to try and fill in the missing words in his sentence.

“In love with him? Since I first laid eyes on him.” Courfeyrac looked generally remorseful for Grantaire. He sighed and took another mouthful of wine.

“Well, since we’re exchanging romantic interests here, Jehan.” Courfeyrac said.

“Are you serious?” Grantaire spat the mouthful of wine he had.

“Yeah.” Courfeyrac smiled, “He’s, I don’t know how to describe him, he’s a very gentle and pure and innocent soul. He’s very charming and he’s very friendly and I just don’t know, he’s just an amazing person.” Courfeyrac finished.

“I’m sorry.” Grantaire whispered, as he and Courfeyrac finished the last bottles of wine.

“You should go tell Enjolras.” Courfeyrac suddenly said. Grantaire’s head turned towards him so quickly he thought he might break his neck.

“You’re hilarious Courf.” Grantaie replied, with as much sarcasm as he could fit into this three-word statement.

“I’m serious!” Courfeyrac argued.

“You tell Jehan, I tell Enjolras?” Grantaire was obviously uncomfortable with the idea, “Why did we run out of wine now?” he complained.

“Deal. We’ll meet here and discuss how it went, alright?” Courfeyrac, being more sober than Grantaire, stood up and offered his hand to pick Grantaire up, Grantaire took his hand and they both stumbled upstairs, Courfeyrac went outside and Grantaire went up to the second floor, he head some sounds which he credited to Enjolras being a noisy sleeper.

What he saw instead was a massive shock to him. At the bar -which they would’ve added to the barricade had it not been attached to the floor- Enjolras was sitting, his back to the bar, on the floor, crying. Not simply crying, but sobbing uncontrollably and inconsolably. Grantaire quickly rushed to him. Enjolras was shocked by the sight of Grantaire and tried to compose himself, his crying ceased, its traces have not. He adjusted his coat and his cravat and looked at Grantaire.

“What is it?” Asked Enjolras, trying to sound authoritative but failing to.

“What’s wrong?” Asked Grantaire, knowing fully what’s wrong. Enjolras is blaming himself for their deaths tomorrow.

“You know fully well where I stand in this, it’s all my fault they’re going to die.” Enjolras’s voice broke towards the end and he returned to sobbing, Grantaire hugged him and they stood there for a minute, Enjolras clutching onto Grantaire for dear life as he sobbed his soul out.

“It’s okay Enjolras, you can only keep it together for so long.”

A few minutes of this until Enjolras composed himself again -and failed again- and looked at Grantaire.

“Joly would’ve been a successful doctor, he would’ve done more benefit out there than crammed here behind that bloody wall of furniture. Combeferre’s ideas and innovations would’ve made the world a better place; people would raise flags in his name, run protests. Even build barricades in his name. And yet here he is, behind me, on my barricade. Jehan would be a renowned writer. His works would change the world’s view on life and love and all those things he wrote about.” Enjolras kept babbling on and Grantaire still held him.

“Everyone here would’ve done something with their lives better than throwing their souls to hell. We’re all burning in hell for this, you know? We’re rebelling against a king. A king placed on his throne by divine law. I’ve sent them all to eternal damnation.” Grantaire realised the more Enjolras talked, the more aware he was of his fault, the guiltier he’ll feel. Finally they broke their embrace, Grantaire looked at Enjolras, he stared at him, maintaining eye contact as he proceeded.

“We all came here by our own choice, you had nothing to do with this, this was our choice.”

“Influenced by my speeches.”

“It was our choice to listen to you.” On this rare event, Enjolras was unable to argue back. So Grantaire proceeded, “Enjolras, look at me, stop thinking about this because it’s not your fault. It’s ours. We all chose to follow you and stand with you.” Enjolras was more consolable by the time Grantaire finished talking.

“Another thing.” He began after a pause. Enjolras nodded for him to talk. Grantaire sat cross-legged on the floor and Enjolras followed suite. Grantaire cleared his throat and started to think of how he was going to say this.

“I really don’t know how to put this into proper words, and since we’re dying tomorrow I think you have a right to know.” He stopped. Enjolras kept looking at him, his gaze daggers into his mind, as if Enjolras was reading what he was thinking.

“I, uh, I’ve been, well, I still am, completely smitten by you and in love with you.” No going back now, “Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I loved you. Your speeches didn’t move me in the direction you wanted me to move to, but they did move me towards belief. You taught me how to have faith, better than religion ever did. I started to believe in you. I placed my faith and my life in your hands and followed you into this, catastrophe. I love you and I haven’t yielded that thought not once since I first saw you. I-“ Grantaire was interrupted by a peck on his lips from Enjolras. A simple, innocent, brief peck, before Enjolras sat back in his place and looked away, blushing. Grantaire did the same.

“I love you too Grantaire, I love that you challenge me and disagree with me, and actually get off on trying to prove me wrong, unlike everyone else who wouldn’t dare cross me. You’re an inspiration to me, Grantaire. When people look at you, what do they see? A drunken student who’s a failure who spent all his money on alcohol and wine, who will end up in the sewers of Paris feeding off rats and stealing off decayed corpses. When I look at you I see a survivor. I see a man who has been through so much in his life, who has ben denied by God, by his friends, by his family. I see someone who has survived and who has risen stronger than what was expected of him. You inspire me to become a better man Grantaire, like how you are better than you were.”

After a few moments of simple eye contact, Grantaire slowly began to laugh, followed by Enjolras, their laughing reached its climax where they were barely able to breathe for a while. Enjolras looks at him and asks him, after what seemed like an eternity of just laughing, “Why are we laughing again?”

Grantaire’s laughing died down slowly, he looked at Enjolras and replied, “It’s funny, we’ve just confessed our love, but tomorrow we’re going to die. So it really makes no difference.” Enjolras shrugged, he can’t say Grantaire’s wrong.

“We can still make of this what little we can make of it.” Enjolras stated after a sombre silence befell the two students. Grantaire looked at him, then approached him, their lips met again then. Their intense make-out session went on for a while before Enjolras stopped and looked at Grantaire.

“I’m tired, Grantaire.” He sighed. He changed his seating so that his head was now on Grantaire’s lap. Grantaire softly moved his fingers through Enjolras’ golden hair, a bit spoiled by the rain, but still golden and shiny nevertheless, “I’m tired of telling everyone what to do, I’m tired of leading. Is this revolution even worth it? I mean, the monarchy isn’t as bad as it was before the Empire. Louis-Philippe is far more able than Louis XVI ever was. We should give him credit for that at least…” Enjolras continued to ramble, Grantaire nodding and humming his concurrences. Grantaire dozed off to Enjolras’s voice, rambling about how efficient Louis-Philippe is as king, even though he really isn’t. But he was still more able than Louis XVI.

“…so really, this barricade is, at the end of the day, a waste of furniture and lives, don’t you think so? Of course you think so. You’re turning me into you, Grantaire. I’m starting to think like you. Grantaire?” Enjolras stopped his incessant talking and returned his focus to Grantaire sleeping, softly snoring, his face right over Enjolras’s. Enjolras smiled, pushed his head up and kissed Grantaire before carefully moving him behind the bar, if they were going to die, let Grantaire sleep through it, he shouldn’t be here. He probably has the greatest chance of escape. Enjolras decided not to linger on the thought of Grantaire dying and laid him behind the bar, hidden from sight. He looked at the empty room one last time before taking his musket from the wall beside the staircase and going down to the barricade.


End file.
